Search

There are certain things that are genetic. In my family, we’re part idiot on my dad’s side of the family. Somewhere in our genes there is also amazing coolness and badassness (I made that word up. You’re welcome).

My cousin, Suzy Cream Cheese, is one of the coolest badasses I have ever met. Our dads are brothers, and they are both idiots. My mom and dad divorced when we were pretty young. For some reason, when that happened, the family just kind of lost touch. I have vague memories of my cousins from when I was little. Fast forward 20+ years and two of my three cousins find me on Facebook. They are awesome. I feel robbed by our dads that they didn’t try harder to keep us all together. Why? Because they were idiots. It would have been so incredibly AWESOME to grow up together. Can only imagine the kind of trouble we would have gotten into.

Now when we hang out it’s kind of funny when we tell people we’re cousins. Why? Because I’m half Mexican and she’s half Chinese. A taco and and an eggroll. People seem so confused when we tell them we’re related. They kind of stare for a minute and then announce, “Oh yes! I see the resemblance!” I believe they see our combined awesomeness.

As shitty as our dads are, she has turned into such an great mom. She’s got a super cool husband, and three great kids. And I’m not just saying that because we’re family. You’ve heard me talk plenty of shit about my own niece and nephew. You know I tell it like it is.

There’s no one who can parent teenagers like she can. When I grow up and have a family – assuming my eggs don’t die before that happens – I want to be just like her. One time, when her daughter wrote with permanent marker on an antique desk they inherited, Suzy Cream Cheese wrote “hi” on her daughter’s forehead with the same pen and posted it on Facebook.

But she really topped herself with this post in which she tagged her daughter:

Moms: don’t like your teen girl traipsing around in subzero weather wearing teeny summer tanks? Box up those summer clothes! Don’t like your teen girl sassing you when you’re asking her reasonable questions? Confiscate the phone and schedule her to miss after-school activities in order to do chores. Don’t like nagging and nagging teen girls to clear out rotting food, dirty laundry, etc from their bedrooms? Visit bedrooms with large trash bags and clear it all out. All.

Teen girls: don’t like listening to moms? All of the above happens. Try to untag this or unfriend mom? Halloween dance at school will take place without you.

Love,
Mama

This makes me want to run out and get pregnant just so I can do the same thing to my own kids.

Yesterday afternoon I had lunch with Biggie. After a rough weekend, he felt there was only one way to turn things around: with bacon. When he extended the invitation he said he was on the verge of killing someone and he had to get off campus, PLUS he offered to pay. How could I say no.

Once in the car, and after we exchanged pleasantries (which of course included comments on my fine rack and his disappointment when he saw I was wearing pants), he proceeded to tell me why his weekend had been so shitty. It wasn’t one thing, but a series of things that led him to his breaking point. His dog decided it was time to eat his favorite shoe, then proceeded to vomit pieces of it on the brand new white carpet in the living room. Someone keyed his car at the grocery store. Saturday morning he went to open the fridge for the cream he puts in his coffee, only to realize he had forgotten to buy some the previous day. His mother-in-law showed up unannounced and decided it was time to reorganize some closets – for four hours. After leaving, his wife harassed him all night about going. He refused since because of the weather, so she decided to stand in front of the TV while he tried to watch a little college football. And to top it all off, on Sunday night, his wife took a brand new gallon of ice tea out of the fridge and proceeded to drop it on the just mopped kitchen floor. The bottom popped off and the tea spilled EVERYWHERE. This set him off and he went into freak-the-fuck-out mode.

He went on a tirade on how much life sucked and why people don’t listen, and blah, blah, blah. He yelled so much and so loudly that two sets of neighbors proceeded to show up to make sure he and his wife were not in some kind of danger (read: that he wasn’t beating his wife). When they asked if everything was okay, he proceeded at yelling again. It all ended in a massive headache.

When he woke up in Monday morning, the dog refused to get up for his morning walk. It took an extra 15 minutes of cajoling to get him on the move. He took a look at the car and realized it would require scraping all of the ice off the windshield – making him late to work. Once he was done with the dog and the windshield he went back inside the house to say goodbye to his wife. She rolled over, and asked him if his headache was gone. “Yes,” he responded. “Good. You were a total prick last night.” and she rolled over and went back to bed.

As he told me the story I was rolling – especially when she called him a prick. That’s when he started sharing what she typically does when she gets mad at me. Her wonderful and creative techniques include hiding his good socks, and clearing out the DVR. So he’ll wake up to watch a TV show he recorded, only to realize it’s completely gone. But my favorite – this one had me weeping – is when she walks into the kitchen while she’s there, takes out the pitcher of iced tea he’s just brewed, walks over to the sink, and pours the entire thing down the drain while she stares at him. She then puts the pitcher on the counter, leaves all the tea bags in the sink, and just walks out.

Almost makes me want to have a boyfriend so I can pull that kind of shit. Good times. Good times.

The first time the College Democrat and I hooked up was Sophomore year. Somehow, he managed to lure me into his dorm room. He must have tricked me by saying something clever like, “Why don’t you come over?” God, I used to fall for that all the time!! I know better now…well, at least I pretend to know better now. I’d had a crush on College Dem for ages-or at least 6 weeks, so there was no way I was turning down the invite.

I walked across the quad to his room, and we proceeded to lay in his bed and listen to music. He was hammered, I was sober, his roommate was passed out in his bed. He was quietly singing next to me when he reached over and grabbed my knocker with his hand. That’s how it all started. So romantic. So magical. This was his clever way of seducing me, and I fell for it: hook, line, and sinker.

Afterwards, I did what any self respecting college girl would do: I got dressed, went back to my room, told my roommate every single detail, and then waited by the phone for him to call me.

College Dem didn’t call. But that’s just fine because I started dating someone else. We remained friends and never spoke of the incident again…

Until Junior year when I wound up at his party, drunk off my ass. You’ll be surprised to hear that I ended up in his bedroom during the party. There we were, College Dem was naked, I was wearing cowboy boots-which he seemed to like, even though they left mud all over his sheets. After we were done, I got dressed, walked back to my apartment, told my roommate every dirty detail (that I could remember since I was so hammered that I kind of blacked out), and then waited for him to call me.

He didn’t call, but that’s okay because I started dating someone else. We remained friends and never spoke of the incident again…In fact, we even went on a trip with the College Democrats together. My boyfriend at the time came with us. We had adjoining rooms. The door was open the night that my boyfriend and I had sex for the first time. College Dem was in the next room sleeping, I could tell because he snored so loudly it made the bed shake…or maybe that was because I was hitting it with my boyfriend. Who knows.

We graduated. We went our separate ways. I heard he married the stupid bitch whore girl that he started dating our Senior year.

Well, guess who just friend requested me on facebook and wants to get together?

He’s everyone’s hero: The guy that every girl needs to know and every damsel in distress’s worst nightmare. Other men want to be him and naive girls with poor judgement and low self esteem will fall prey to his prowess, and I get to meet up with him for dinner (please let me be one of those girls!). I’m having dinner with Mr. Cool himself, Pistols @ Dawn.

Hmm. . .will I change my last name when we get married?

Catherinette @ Dawn.

Mrs. Catherinette @ Dawn.

Mrs. Pistols @ Dawn.

Mrs. Catherinette Singleton-@ Dawn.

Maybe I’ll just keep my last name.

5:45: Crap, I have to leave my house in 15 minutes if I’m going to get there on time. What should I wear? White long sleeve shirt, jeans, and boots.

5:49: No, I don’t like this outfit-not enough cleavage. How about this green shirt?

5:51: Too much cleavage. If I show up wearing this he’s going to start throwing dollar bills at me. Then again, I could use the extra cash.

5:52: Let’s go with this shirt, just the right amount of cleavage. Now for the shoes. Boots? No boots. How about heels? But what if it snows later. I got it! The heels with tread on the bottom.

6:00: Perfect. Except for the hair. What’s with the hair? Looks like a small bird has decided to nest there. Oh well, time’s up. I gotta go. He’ll just have to get over it.

6:02: Maybe I should have stuck with the green shirt to detract from the rat’s nest on top of my head.

6:15: Gotta leave a message for Lola-just in case he’s a serial killer and I disappear. “Hey, Lola! It’s Catherinette. I’m off to meet Pistols @ Dawn for dinner. If I die, his name and number are on my cellphone and you can have my new red coat. Tell my niece and nephew I always loved them. I’ll call you when I’m on my way home-if he doesn’t kill me.”

6:20: What the hell is up with all this GD traffic?! I’m getting angry. I’m going to be late and I hate being late.

6:25: I have a superb idea! I’ll text him while I’m stuck at one of these stupid red lights and let him know that I’m running late.

6:26: How is it possible that I’m hitting another red light?

6:27: And another?

6:28: And 6 more. Freaking red lights.

6:30: I am officially late. I hate myself.

6:32: Score! There’s a parking spot right in front of the restaurant. Now, if I can only manage to parallel park. . .

6:35:Okay, now where’s that George Clooney look-a-like? That guy at the end of the bar is waving to someone behind me? [Turn to look around] No, wait, he’s waving to me. Wait a second, he doesn’t look like George Clooney.

6:38: Wow, that was really smooth of him to knock down the entire container of salt. Talk about “game”! I think I might swoon.

6:39: Ha ha, a Mexican joke about lawn mowing. I haven’t heard that one (100 times in the last week).

6:43: I think I’ll order a salad and eat like a bird so he thinks that I’m all healthy and physically fit.

6:44: Like eating a salad is going to hide the fact that I have concealed muffin top and back fat.

6:45:Screw it! I’m going for meat wrapped in meat with fattening sauce on top. Mmm. . .meaty bacony goodness. A burger? He’s having a burger when he could have bacon wrapped filet? Maybe this marriage isn’t going to work.

7:00: The woman at the table next to us is eyeing Pistols up and down. She’s flirting with him but he’s not noticing because he’s whispering to his glass of booze. I can’t quite make out what he’s saying but it sounds like “you’re mine tonight.”

7:10:She just whispered something to her friend. Wait now she’s getting up and she’s sticking her ass in his face! What the hell is she? A dog greeting a new friend. The dirty, bitch! “Usually I have to pay for that,” he says. BWAHAHAHA!! I manage to swallow my drink instead of releasing it through my nose. Good one! The dirty bitch chuckles too. As she walks away, I see her do the “call me sign” by raising her forefinger and pinky up to her ear. I don’t think he notices because her hand is not anywhere close to my cleavage-where his eyes are currently located.

7:15: Christ, what the hell is he doing with his glass? He’s not supposed to be licking the inside of the glass. That’s gross. He’s whispering to it again. Should I leave them alone for a second?

7:17:Oh look, another Mexican joke. Yes, I have heard that Mexicans drive low riders so they can pick lettuce as they go. Funny. Hardee har har.

7:45: Hey there, sailor. My eyes are up here.

7:53: Wonder if he’s planning on making eye contact any time soon?

8:03:I can only imagine what would have happened if I had worn the green shirt. I have an image of him sailing across the table and motorboating me.

8:18: We’ve inhaled our food and I need another drink-or 12 if I’m going to catch up to him. Let’s go to this nice out of the way bar. It’s quiet there (plus they have stools that vibrate and I could use that right now).

8:32: God freaking damn it, someone is sitting on the stool I want. Bastard! Wait a second, he’s kind of hot. I might have to go and make friends with him later.

9:15: Wait a second. I think I’m drunk. No, I know I’m drunk. Christ, I have no tolerance. I will now attempt to sit here and pretend to not be drunk. This is going really well. Why is the bar starting to spin?

9:19: People are so funny when I’m drunk!!

9:30:I’m going to fall off of this (non-vibrating) barstool in a second. Why is he looking at the mirror? Did he just wink at himself? Yes, yes he did. Now he’s caressing his cheek in the mirror!

9:55:How has he never seen Tila Tequila? What’s wrong with him? Then let’s talk about more dysfunction. This one has strippers in it: Rock of Love.

10:14: What does he mean he doesn’t watch television? What the hell is wrong with him? What on earth would we do together if we weren’t watching television? This is really disappointing. The marriage is off. I can’t marry someone that doesn’t want to watch useless things on television with me. That’s what a relationship is all about. That and broken promises.

10:30: He’s looking over my shoulder and pretending to talk to someone that’s not there. I stare blankly at him. I think I’m starting to sober up.

10:34:After winking at himself in the mirror and making a joke to my right shoulder, he has fallen out of his barstool. Not sure how to handle that right now. I know, I’ll just stare blankly at him.

10:40: Is he getting up? He’s asleep! How could he fall asleep?? I wasn’t even talking about handbags or shoes! Christ, I’m not that boring!

10:45:That’s it. If he doesn’t wake up after 5 minutes of me kicking him in the kidney with my high heeled foot. I’m out. Oh, and would you look at that? Barstool hotty is walking out too. Sure, I’d love it if he walked me to my car.

11:15: What is it about a man with a Mustang?

11:34: How is it that I find myself making out in yet another car? So much for my New Year’s Resolution.

12:30am: My phone is ringing. Screw it. I’m not answering it when Mr. New Mustang is so fiery hot and breathing on my neck.

12:35: He said he’d call me! This is it! The beginning of something special. I can feel it.

Last night, Lola and I went to see Frank Warren of Post Secret give a little talk at the Barnes & Noble near Johns Hopkins. He’s launching his latest book and is taking his tour on the road. Before I tell you about it, I’d like to point out that it must be so wicked cool to go to school at Hopkins. I went to college in a relatively small town in upstate New York. We didn’t have cool places to go to, the only thing that we could do to pass the time is drink and hook-up. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Still, it would have been nice to be able to walk out my front door and go to a good bookstore or trendy cafe.

For the 4 people in the world that have never heard of Frank Warren, or Post Secret, here’s a little background. Frank started this project back in 2004. He thought it would be an interesting project to distribute postcards to people, and ask them to write in their secrets and send them to him. It’s been 3 years since he began, and he’s published 4 books and receives about 200 postcards every single day.

It’s an amazing project and I highly recommend that you check it out. Really, go to Post Secret now and then just come back when you’re through.

Most of the multi-media presentations that he’s doing are being held at Barnes & Noble. If you have a chance to go, I highly recommend it. You’ll get to learn about how he started the project, see postcards that didn’t make it in the book, and find out his biggest secret.

A few of you have asked for details from the Saturday night “festivities”. I’ll provide you with the short and sweet version, and the longer much less sweet version. Please enjoy. . .

Short and Sweet

We were both drunk, we started hooking up at the bar and moved it over to my room. I served him up a Bartles & Jaymes, he reciprocated. We hit it and it was superb. Sadly, there was no cookie. He slept over, I kicked him out at 8:30. We met up with friends for brunch around noon. Said our goodbyes shortly thereafter, and the story ends there.

Long and Dirty

It’s been a few months since I last saw Notebook as he’s moved to another state. Somehow, he talked me into picking him up at the airport. We met at the terminal, and my God, that boy has a sweet ass body. He was wearing a polo shirt that hugged him in all the right places. Yummy! I was hoping beyond hope that we’d end up hooking up at some point, but was pretty sure that it wasn’t going to happen. We drove to the hotel, ran into the groomsmen and groom, met up with some friends, grabbed a bite to eat and then checked into our rooms. We had about ½ an hour to get ready and report back to the lobby for the shuttle that would take us to the wedding location.

Fast forward 30 minutes, we’re all back in the lobby. The wedding was held in this gorgeous Hunt club out in the country, and I was pleasantly surprised to see a lot of old people. This meant one thing: there were less eligible bachelorettes available to him. Unfortunately, it also meant that there would be less options for me if things didn’t pan out with Notebook. We sat together through the service (which was the most beautiful ceremony I’ve ever seen), attended the cocktail hour and then went to our table.Much to my chagrin, I realized that there were 3 other ladies sitting at our table. I was clever in my seating arrangement as I had him sit between me and our guy friend that was there-less access to the bachelorettes. When they came to the table, I realized it was all for nothing-not cute. Reception was a great time, the alcohol flowed freely, there was plenty of flirting, and zero opportunity for him to flirt with anyone else. There was, however, plenty of opportunity for me to make friends with the tall, dark, and handsome groomsman from New York.

New York was handsome, and I was warned about him. The best man and the groom himself told me he was a dog. Guess what? Dogs work pretty well for a hook up, especially ones that are as tall, dark, and handsome as New York was. Things seemed to be working out pretty well, and I took it as a good sign when the wedding party left before we did, and New York told me he’d meet me back at the hotel bar. This led me to believe that I had acquired my target for the evening.

Fast forward 30 minutes, we’re all at the bar. Some people have changed, I’m still in my kick ass dress and my gorgeous heals. I kept going back and forth between New York and Notebook. As I began complaining about how painful my shoes were, New York suggested that I run back to my room to change my shoes. My room was conveniently located down the hall from the bar-I didn’t even have to bother with the elevator. Ran to my room, ran back, handed my room key to Notebook as I had left my purse in my room, New York bought me a drink, we flirted some, then New York excused himself to run to the men’s room. At this point, I went to talk to Notebook who was sitting at the bar. He said, “come here,” grabbed the back of my head, and we started making out at the bar. Klassy. Somewhere in the back of my mind it occurred to me that New York would probably not want to hook up with me if he saw me making out with Notebook at the bar. Drunken thoughts are funny to me.

As last call had occurred, the lights had been turned on, and management had decided it was time for us to leave, Notebook was kind enough to escort me back to my room. How very convenient that he had my room key (god I’m so smart and clever sometimes). We went into the room, I turned on the lamp next to the bed, sat on the king sized bed, and he sat down next to me. We started to snog some more. Suddenly, we were horizontal.

For about 30 seconds I questioned how far I was going to let him get. Then I thought, “Fuck it. Why not just go all the way?” My dress was soon lifted, lowered and crushed between us. He had a belt that required in-depth training to figure out how to remove. He was down to nothing in about a half an hour. I was down to almost nothing shortly thereafter. I provided a synopsis of events in the Short and Sweet version, all two of you that were interested in knowing what happened will have to be satisfied with that.

We hooked up 2 years ago and I had thought that he’d be a good shag. That’s an understatement. He was superb. Why? God only knows. I think it’s a combination of factors: he’s smoking hot, we have great chemistry, he knows what he’s doing and I had wanted him for a long time. Granted, sometimes that leads to disappointment, but not in this case-he far exceeded my expectations.

After it was all said and done with, I planned on kicking him out of my room. I’m not the type that likes to have sleepovers with hook ups. For me, it’s much easier to establish boundaries when we don’t snuggle up afterwards. My usual way of getting them to get dressed and go home is by using this wonderful line: I’ll be asleep by the time that you get home. They usually get the message, and call it a night. Unfortunately, this didn’t work out on Saturday. When I came out of the bathroom, he was already tucked in under the covers. Damn him! I sucked it up and let him sleep in the bed with me.

I woke a few times and was so delighted with myself when I turned to see his naked form sleeping next to me. Truly a beautiful site to behold. Seriously, he has a kick ass body. Kick ass. Ugh, I’m so proud of myself for getting to see it in all it’s glory. Go me!! I woke up at 6:30 with a crushing headache and my stomach churning. Went back to sleep until 7:00. I started rolling around in the bed and sighing out loud in hopes that he’d wake up and leave. It didn’t work. I got up to take a shower at 8:00 and prayed that I wouldn’t get sick while he was room. I woke his ass up around 8:15 and told him that if he wanted to sleep anymore, he’d have to go up to his room. He left. 20 minutes later, I puked. So hot. . .Thank freaking god that he wasn’t there for that. THANK GOD!!

We met up for brunch at noon with our other friends. I mentioned nothing to them, and figured he would do the same. He started asking me questions that I figured they would find suspicious: What did you do after I left? Did you go back to sleep? Guess we weren’t keeping it a secret like I thought we would. Oh well. When it was time to go, he walked me to my car, kissed me, and we said good bye.

I guarantee that I will never see him again, and if I do, there will never be any mention of Saturday night. I’m okay with that. I’m just wicked super psyched and pleased that I finally got to see him naked and it was everything that I imagined and hoped it would be.